Brown Betty: I'm Getting Sentimental Over You
by oconnellaboo
Summary: NOW COMPLETE. A girl. A guy. A scientist. And oh, yeah - dead bodies. Just another case for PI Olivia Dunham, or the game-changer of her life? Set in the 2.19 'verse. They're swell, but I don't own 'em, so no inFRINGEment meant, see? To my Beta, DixieGirl256 - you're aces, doll.
1. Chapter 1

**Brown Betty: I'm Getting Sentimental Over You - Chapter 1**

Once upon a time, there was an accomplished detective named Olivia Dunham… and boy, was she cheesed off. She never liked being awoken from a great night's sleep by a ringing phone, but she liked it even less when the bed she was sleeping in wasn't hers.

It wasn't like she didn't like the bed – on the contrary. She'd had quite a few very enjoyable nights in it, last night being a particular standout. She just liked to be out of it – and the house - before the fella on the other side of it woke up. She winced when she saw a tousled brown head shift on the pillow next to her and groan.

Getting up stealthily, she crept into a dark corner of the room and answered. "Dunham," she whispered.

"It's Broyles," came a deep voice on the other end.

"Well, hello there, Chief," she said, hushed. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"What's with the voice, Dunham? You comin' on to me?" Broyles droned in an amused voice. "Or… do you have company?"

"None of your beeswax… _sir_," she countered. "'Specially since I haven't worked for you in a very long time."

"Yeah, well, never you mind that. I'm actually extending you a professional courtesy. Got a case here that's what they would say in my ball-playin' days is right in your wheelhouse."

"Oh, yeah?" Dunham couldn't hide it. She was intrigued. When it came to his cases, Broyles made the Sphinx look like Chatty Cathy – he never gave up anything, especially not to Olivia Dunham. "Color my interest piqued. Where ya at?"

"The Tower Hotel, Fifth and Piedmont."

"Can I wear my good shoes?"

"Yeah, this one's pretty clean," Broyles replied. But get here soon, before the lab boys finish up. You'll wanna see it, Dunham. Trust me, this one has you written all over it."

"Be there in ten." She hung up the phone, frowning when she turned and saw her bedmate now fully awake and sitting up. "Sorry about that. Didn't mean to wake you."

"That's okay, doll," the young man said, smiling as he rubbed the sleep from his big blue eyes. "It's a nice change. I actually get to say good morning to ya." His smile faded immediately when he saw her getting dressed. "Or goodbye."

"See, there's another difference between us, Bishop," Olivia Dunham said as she threw on her clothes and her overcoat. "I hate goodbyes."

As she sashayed out the door, she didn't quite hear him softly say, "Not so different."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Room 711 at the Tower Hotel wasn't the swankiest address in town, but as Olivia Dunham stepped across its threshold, she decided it beat some of the fleabags she'd been in – mostly during her time with John.

_John. That dirtbag. That lousy, lyin'_… Olivia shook her head to clear the cobwebs of anger. She'd just come from the bed of a man who'd just loved her cross-eyed, and she was thinking about _John_? It was amazing how different the two men were; John Scott was movie star handsome, all square jawed and quarterback solid. John was a cop's cop, no-nonsense and by-the-book… or so everyone thought. He treated everyone and everything the same way: full speed ahead. If he wanted you, John Scott would have you – whether it was putting you in jail, or getting you in the sack. He never took no for an answer, not that Olivia ever said no to him. She would meet him at any sleazy motel he told her to go to, and even wore the perfume he gave her, even though it smelled like after hours in a whorehouse. She pretended the earth moved, even when it didn't; sex with John was sweaty, heavy and quick.

After the fact, Olivia Dunham told herself she'd never understand why she stayed with him, but who was she kidding? She loved the louse, and when he betrayed not only her, but his whole country, she was shattered, and vowed that the little hotel where Olivia Dunham's heart resided was closed for business – this property was condemned.

Now, Peter Bishop? He was another kettle of fish entirely. He needed two days' growth of beard to make him look older than twenty, and was six feet two inches of quick-moving, fast-talking string bean. Long as a mile, and as lean as Olivia's last police paycheck, he had a smile so sweet, you wouldn't need sugar for your cup of joe, and eyes the color of a spring morning in the country. He could sell ice to an Eskimo with that silver tongue of his – and that tongue, in Olivia's opinion, was good for a helluva lot more than just talking. Oh, he was smooth, Peter Bishop. Very smooth… and _dangerous_.

Nina Sharp wasn't entirely wrong when she told Olivia that – Bishop had a rap sheet as long and colorful as a sailor's tattooed arm. Funny thing was, though… for all of Peter Bishop's shady connections and dirty dealings, Olivia never for a moment doubted that beneath that shine-ola lay a heart of gold. He was so courtly, it was kinda ridiculous – holding doors, and always making sure his hand was at the small of Olivia's back when they walked together. It was like he was always trying to guide her to that same happy place he occupied when they were together.

Sure, she had her doubts when they first met, but she'd been given false information; she'd been told by Dr. Bishop that Peter had stolen Walter's vital glass heart. Thinking back, she was surprised she'd forgiven Bishop for playing her for a chump – most guys who did that were singing soprano now. But, she figured, Peter himself had forgiven the desperate old man – still loved him, even – so who was she to argue? Peter had slowly, carefully begun to teach Olivia Dunham how to trust again.

And he scared her to death.

"Dunham, you comin' in for a landing any time soon?" Broyles's voice broke her reverie, and she realized she was staring into space in the doorway of the hotel room.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, Chief. Whatcha got?"

He led her over to where the body lay. "Hermione McCallister. Age 46."

Olivia looked down at the woman; she seemed to have simply dropped dead, no sign of a struggle or foul play. "Huh. Heart attack?"

"Not sure until the knives back at HQ get a hold of her, but it looks like," Broyles replied.

"And this is interesting to me… how?" Olivia asked from beneath the brim of her fedora.

"It's interesting in that tomorrow was supposed to be Hermione McCallister's wedding day."

Olivia felt a twinge of sorrow, but quickly filed it away. "Folks die every day, so I'd figure that some of them do it the day before their wedding. Law of averages," she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Broyles took out his iPad and started scrolling through photos. "George Collyers. Miles Delancie. LaShawn Dupree." He spoke the names quietly as he scrolled through the photos, which were of various bodies on various floors, all just as dead as poor Hermione McCallister. "All dead. And most of them were engaged to be married, or in relationships."

"So?"

"Well, we haven't started talking to the neighbors, but I'll betcha dollars to donuts that Miss McCallister here is marrying somebody she only just met."

"What?" That hooked her. Damn that Broyles, he knew her too well. "Only just met?"

"Ah, see? I told ya. Right in your wheelhouse," Broyles gloated briefly. "According to folks who knew him, George Collyers was a loner. Only went to the library, and work, and then back home. No social life, nuthin'. All of a sudden, he's dressin' like Diddy and shopping for engagement rings." He scrolled back to another photo. "LaShawn Dupree. Voted Most Likely to Become a Nun in high school. Never had a boyfriend, was three days from gettin' hitched when she died."

Broyles scrolled one last time. "Miles Delancie. Dropped dead an hour after he literally shouted from a rooftop his everlasting eternal love for one Mary Jane Ostrowski. Which would have just been tragic, except for the fact that until two weeks prior, Miles Delancie was gay."

"Golly," Olivia said softly. "None of these folks had anything in common?"

"Aside from unlikely whirlwind romances? Not much. So, Dunham, whaddya say? Wanna lend a little shoe leather to this?"

"I charge 400 a day plus expenses," Olivia smiled sweetly.

"Aw, Dunham, ya kill me," Broyles smiled back. "I think you'll do this for free."

"Oh, really? What makes ya say that, Chief?"

"For starters, you can't resist a story of love gone wrong. But mostly, because every single person we've talked to said the same thing about our vics – that it's like they drank some kind of love potion." At Olivia's quirked eyebrow, he said, "Now, who do we know that makes stuff like that? If you don't want my boys goin' over to the lab your fella works at, and questioning Doctor Walter Bishop in their unique fashion, I think you might want to get on this, _toot sweet_."

"He's not my fella," Olivia protested.

"Whatever. Ask the questions, Dunham… or I will."

-0-0-0-0-


	2. Chapter 2

2.

"She came at me in sections… more sections than a Sunday newspaper. She was bad. She was dangerous. Her name was… Peter!" Walter Bishop turned off his digital recorder when he saw the lanky young man standing in the doorway with a bemused smirk on his face.

Peter Bishop – no relation – took the toothpick from his mouth, and said, "I think you might to want to change 'her' name, Walter. Peter just doesn't seem to work, if ya ask me."

"What? Oh… oh, don't be silly – of course I wouldn't name _her_ Peter! The very thought." Peter watched with pride as his employer, and surrogate father, strode confidently to his lab table. Not that long ago, the old man was confined to a wheelchair, but thanks to Peter, they now shared two halves of a strong, vital – and miraculous - heart. "I'm writing a detective novel!" he declared excitedly.

"Okay," Peter replied suspiciously. "Mind if I ask why?"

"It's a tribute to your lovely Detective Dunham! She's quite the dish," Walter said, winking slyly.

Peter snorted softly. "_My_ Detective Dunham. Right." He removed his overcoat and fedora, tossing the hat onto the coatrack. After hanging the coat up, he wandered over to what they called, "his" section of the lab, took off his suit jacket, unbuttoned his vest, and rolled up his sleeves. He was absent-mindedly tinkering with a broken cell phone, when Walter broke the silence.

"Oh, dear," Walter said. "Someone's got dame trouble." At Peter's incredulous look, he continued, "It's written all over your face, son. What happened? Did you and the beguiling Miss Dunham break up?"

"Ya can't break up if ya ain't together in the first place, Walter," Peter replied sourly.

"Nonsense! Of course you're together! You love her."

"Takes two to tango, Pops," the younger man replied.

"Oh… you mean you're not still having intercourse? I mean, I know you _were_… the times you've come in to work looking sleep-deprived and disheveled, but with a big smile on your face… and there was that time you and Miss Dunham disappeared into the broom closet for half an hour. How you managed not to dislocate something is a tribute to your flexibility."

Blushing, Peter waved a hand at Walter. "C'mon, Walter, knock it off, will ya? I'm not talkin' about _that_. Geez Louise," he said, exasperated. He sat down on the stool at the lab table and scratched his head. "I've never known a girl like her. She's… I dunno. I just can't figure her out." A flash of anger crossed his face. "And who says I'm in love with her anyhow?" he asked defiantly.

"Anyone who looks at you," Walter said gently. "You're head over heels, boy, don't deny it."

"Aw, hell, what's the use? Yeah, I'm crazy about her. Swear to God, Walter, I've never felt like this before. It's nuts. I think about her all the time. I can't wait til she calls, or til I can see her… and when we're together? It's like the Macy's parade, Christmas, and my birthday all rolled into one, ya know?"

The corpses in the corner of the room sat up suddenly. "_Love… exciting and new… come aboard… we're expecting you… _"

"Shaddup, will ya?" Peter snapped. The corpses' mouths closed immediately, and they lay back down without another sound. "Ya gotta get rid of those things, Walter, I'm tellin' ya."

Ignoring him, Walter patted Peter on the arm. "Could just be infatuation. Or lust. I take it the intercourse is more than satisfactory?"

"Geez, Walter, all right! The sex is great, okay? The angels sing, are ya happy?"

"Yes, I am," Walter said affectionately. "I've always hoped you'd find a nice girl and settle down. You deserve to be happy."

Peter sighed. "Thanks, Walter. I dunno about deservin', but I'd sure _like_ to be happy. And she's the one I'd like to be happy with. But she only lets me get so close, and then, _bam_, the door gets slammed in my face."

"Give her time, son. You know she's a little skittish about love." Walter squeezed his shoulder. "And besides, you've always risen to a challenge."

"Yeah, I work with you, don't I?" Peter joked. "Let's talk about somethin' else, huh? What else ya got cookin', aside from the next bestseller?"

"Oh! Something very exciting. Self-reheating leftovers!" Walter proclaimed with great fanfare.

"Huh?" Peter's lips curled in disgust, the crease in his forehead turning into a canyon.

"It's brilliant, really." He tilted his chin toward the upright piano in the far corner of the lab. "Why don't you go play us something while I get my notes together to show you. You look like you need to let off a little steam. How about some Gershwin?"

Walter went back over to his table and started gathering papers as Peter wandered over to the piano. Yeah, tickling some ivories might just get him out of this mood. Right now, he felt bluer than a Miles Davis tune, and just this side of angry. A little Gershwin might snap him out of it at that. As Walter shuffled his papers for the fiftieth time, he sat down and lifted the keyboard's cover, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

The older Bishop almost dropped his papers when, instead of a sweet, jazzy love song, the piano nearly burst forth with the mad, _allegro agitato _third movement of Gershwin's Concerto in F. "Oh, someone is _definitely_ in a mood," he murmured as Peter's fingers flew furiously across the keys.

The piece was just reaching its crescendo when the doors swung open. Peter looked up to see Olivia Dunham, her blond hair shining like so much spun cornsilk in the harsh light of the lab. She was an angel in red lipstick and pumps. He stopped playing abruptly and stared at her like a man looking at an oasis in the Sahara.

Walter was the first to speak. "Why, Detective Dunham! What a wonderful surprise! Would you like something to drink? I've invented a new cocktail."

"No thanks, Doc," she said, gliding down the steps into the lab. She nodded at Peter, a small smile gracing her face. "Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself, Dunham. What brings you to our humble workplace?" Peter asked.

"What? A girl can't just drop by to say hello to a handsome scientist?" She grinned her most winning grin.

"Walter, it's for you," Peter said sarcastically.

"Funny guy," Olivia said, her smile disappearing. "Listen, fellas, we gotta talk."

"Peter, don't be rude, take her coat, will you?" Walter said, glaring at Peter and gesturing wildly at him.

Peter lazily got up and walked over to Olivia. "Madame," he droned as he reached for her coat.

"No, thanks, I can't stay. I'm on a case, and I need your help." Peter stepped back from her. "Well, hopefully, it's your help I need."

"Whaddya mean? Quit makin' like a puzzle and put the pieces together for us," Peter said testily.

Olivia looked at him strangely. _What's with him?_ She thought to herself. "Doctor Bishop… "

"Walter, please, dear," Walter insisted.

"Doc," she continued, "I just got back from a crime scene. At least, I'm pretty sure it's a crime scene. There's been folks droppin' dead all over town, and the rumor is they drank some kind of potion." She reached into her coat pocket and withdrew a vial, labeled with the numeral "4," and offered it to Peter. "Found this at the scene. I need you to run some tests on it, and tell me straight up – Walter, have you ever made a love potion?"

"You accusin' him of something, Dunham?" Peter queried, his voice ominous.

"It's all right, Peter," Walter said, walking over to the two angry lovebirds. "As a matter of fact, yes, I have," he replied honestly. "Well, at least I tried to. A very long time ago, my college lab partner and I tried to create one. It was an abject failure; we wound up with egg on our faces to go with all the slaps from the ladies we tried it on."

"This lab partner of yours… he got a name?" Olivia asked.

"Yes, William Bell."

"The Massive Dynamic guy? He's the guy that tried to take Peter's heart, before _you_ did," Olivia spat.

"We were friends once, William and I," Walter said sadly. "But he disappeared a very long time ago. He can't be responsible for this, if that's what's happening."

"Yeah, well, we'll see," Olivia replied. "You gonna test this for me?"

Peter looked at her for a moment, then tossed the vial in the air, catching it easily as Olivia gasped. "Sure. Why not? Got nuthin' better to do. And what are you gonna be doin' while I'm toiling here?"

"I'm gonna go and talk to the last vic's fiancée. See if I can dig anything up… so to speak." Olivia touched the brim of her fedora. "Appreciate the help, boys."

"Anything for you, doll," Peter replied, grinning.

"Yeah, yeah, if I thought ya meant it," Olivia said jokingly. Peter's face fell. "What? C'mon, Bishop, lighten up," she said, and turned to leave.

"He does," Walter called to her as Peter walked back to his lab station dejectedly. Olivia looked over her shoulder. "He does mean it."

Olivia left without another word.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

**Author's note: Gershwin's Concerto in F is probably one of the most difficult pieces of music ever written for piano – at least that was my opinion as a college piano student, and I took a look at the sheet music! Never could play it. There are clips on YouTube for anyone who'd like to check it out!**


	3. Chapter 3

3.

"Thanks for seeing me, Miss Nash," Olivia said as she was ushered into the small ranch-style home. "I know this must be a terrible time for you."

"That's all right, Miss Dunham. Lieutenant Broyles called and said you'd be coming by." She wiped her nose with a tissue, and called behind Olivia, "Melissa! I want you to stay right in front of the house, ya hear? Stay where I can see you."

"Okay, Mama," the little girl, who Olivia had just passed with a nod, called back.

"She looks like you," Olivia said as she sat down on the sofa.

"You think? I always think she's the spitting image of her dad." Tears began to roll down Constance Nash's face. "He died in the war."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Olivia said, looking around the room. "So, how long did you know George Collyers?"

"I work at the library. George would come in every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. He'd head straight for the history section on Monday, the biography section on Wednesday, and the modern fiction on Friday. Knew his Dewey Decimal back and forth." A fond smile crossed her face. "We talked sometimes. He was so bright. And steady."

"Steady? Is that a good thing?" Olivia queried.

"Of course!" Constance exclaimed. "I suppose I had a little crush on him from the first week I saw him. My Harry died three years ago, and I've been terribly lonely. Do you have a beau, Miss Dunham?"

Taken aback, Olivia stammered, "Well, I, uh… it… yeah, I guess I do."

"You guess? You're not sure?"

"Miss Nash, I'm the one asking the questions right now, although I do appreciate your interest in my happiness," Olivia said shortly.

"Oh… I 'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound forward. But it would surprise me if you didn't have a beau. You're so beautiful, and Lieutenant Broyles says you're the smartest gal he knows. "

"Oh, he does, does he?" Olivia couldn't help but smile. _Bet he didn't want me to hear that_, she thought to herself. Relaxing a bit – and not wanting to alienate the woman – Olivia said, "I'm the one who should apologize. I'm just… well, having a fella's kinda new for me."

"I'll bet he's a handsome devil. Girls like you always get the dreamboats," Constance said wistfully.

"Oh, you're all right," Olivia said. "I'll bet all kinds of guys wanted you to find their books for them, huh?"

"No, not really. My Harry and I were kids together, and when he… well, I'm just not all that great around men. Except George."

"Were you seeing each other long?"

"You mean dating? No, we never really dated much. We fell in love in the library."

"Ah," Olivia said, taking notes.

"So? Is he?"

"Is who, what?" Olivia said, confused.

"Is he handsome? Your fella."

Olivia thought for a moment, conjuring Peter's face in her mind. "Yeah, he is."

"Neat," Constance chirped. "If you don't mind my asking, what's his name?"

Olivia sighed. This was going to be the longest interview ever, but if it helped get the woman to answer her questions… "Peter. His name's Peter."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Peter parked his car in the last space available on the quaint tree-lined street. He didn't venture into this posh part of town very often, and had no other reason to be there than the fact that Olivia's house keys had fallen out of her pocket when she'd given him the vial to test. Ever the dutiful swain, he'd left Walter to start the tests, and jumped in the old man's even older jalopy after checking the address with Broyles at PD.

He locked the car door, and strolled down the block to the numbered house he was looking for. A little girl of about five sat at a small table on the porch, talking animatedly to the stuffed teddy bear occupying the seat opposite her. "'Scuse me, ma'am," Peter said, tipping his hat to the little girl. "You the owner?"

The little girl looked at the tall young man before her, and laughed. "No!" she giggled. "Of course not!"

"Ah," Peter said, stepping up onto the porch. "So, what's your story, then, Angel Face? You the housekeeper?"

Giggling again, the girl leaned toward the teddy bear, as though it was sharing a secret. "Brownie thinks you're silly," she told Peter.

"Yeah, I get that a lot. Listen, my name's Peter. I'm looking for a tall, pretty blond lady named Olivia Dunham. I work with her. Do you know if she's inside?"

The little girl, Melissa, narrowed her eyes at him, not sure whether to answer him. Nervous, she reached over for her teddy bear, but she knocked him over and he fell to the porch. "Brownie!" she cried in a tearful voice.

"Whoa, man down," Peter said, reaching down and picking the bear up. Brushing him off gently, he said, "You okay, Brownie?" He leaned in, mimicking the child's earlier gesture. "Yeah, he's fine. He's a tough ol' bear." As he handed the toy back to her, he saw tears in her eyes. Crouching to her level, he said, "Hey, now, he's okay. No harm done. He even thought it was fun! I definitely thought I heard him say, '_Whee'_ on the way down. Didn't you?"

Melissa wiped her eyes with her fists. "Yeah, I guess," she said, mustering a smile. "Brownie says he sorry. You're not silly after all."

"Oh, that's okay. I'm plenty silly sometimes. So, you know my name. What's yours?"

"Melissa. And the lady is inside with Mommy. They're talking about Mr. Collyers. He died."

Peter took a seat on the porch step. "Oh, yeah. Mr. Collyers. I'm sorry about that."

"Mommy said he was gonna be my new daddy."

"Oh, yeah? How'd you feel about that?" Peter asked.

"I dunno. Weird. I never saw him."

"Really? He never came over? Never took Mommy out on a date or anything?" _What was up with that chump?_ Peter asked himself. He and Olivia didn't exactly date, either, but he'd pick her up at her place for coffee every now and again.

"Nope," Melissa said distractedly, clearly bored with all the grownup talk. "Wanna see my bottle collection? I got all different colors of glass!" She scurried to the corner of the porch and dragged a box, full to rattling with bottles, over to Peter.

"Careful there, sweetheart, ya don't wanna break any of 'em. I'll bet they're pretty valuable," Peter warned her as she came to a stop.

"What's val-ya-bull?"

"Means they're worth a lotta dough," Peter explained.

"Oh. I just like them 'cuz they're pretty." She held up a blue bottle that looked like it had once contained skin lotion. "Isn't it pretty?"

"It is," Peter agreed. "It matches your eyes, which are very pretty too." Melissa giggled again; Peter liked that sound. Lately, his mind had been wandering to hearing that sound someday in his own life. Yeah, he wouldn't mind a bunch of little rugrats, with blond hair and green eyes like angry emeralds…

"… has a number on it! I know all my numbers."

"Huh? I'm sorry, sweetness, what'd you say?" Peter said, snapping out of his daydream.

"I said," she said impatiently, "This one's neat, because it has a number on it!" She shoved the vial at him. "See? It says THREE!"

Peter took the vial – the exact same kind as the one bearing the number 4 that Olivia had brought him – and turned it over in his hand. He sniffed it; he could still smell some of the same substance Walter had started testing before he left. "Say, Melissa, there's something in this bottle. I dunno, but I think it might be bad. Would you mind if I took this to show my friend Olivia?"

"I guess. You'll give it back, though?"

"I promise. We may have to take it for a day or so – ya know, clean it up so there's nothing bad left in it. But I'll bring it back." Peter made an "X" over his chest. "Cross my heart."

"Hope to die?"

Peter nodded. "Stick a needle in my eye."

"Okay," Melissa said happily as the door behind her opened.

"Thanks, Melissa," Peter said, taking her hand and kissing it. "You're a peach."

Olivia almost ran into him as she exited the house, with Contance behind her. "Peter? What are you doing here?"

"My solemn duty," he said, producing her house keys from his pocket with a flourish. "They fell outta your pocket at the lab."

"You came all the way here for that?" she asked, stunned.

"Oh! You're Peter?" Constance asked, smiling flirtatiously.

"That's the name, ma'am." He took his hat off. "I'm sorry for your trouble, Miss… Nash, is it?"

"Yes, it is. Thank you." Constance looked at Olivia and gave her an approving wink, much to Olivia's chagrin.

"Well, um, uh… " Flustered, Olivia smoothed her hair and pulled her coat tighter around her. "Thank you for your time, Miss Nash."

"Nice to meet you, Melissa," Peter said to the little girl as he took Olivia's arm.

Melissa waved to them as they stepped off the porch. "Don't forget! Cross your heart!"

"Hope to die!" he called over his shoulder with a wave.

When they'd gotten to Peter's car, Olivia said, "What was that all about?"

"That," he said, handing her the empty vial, "Was about _this_."

"Well, whaddya know… " Olivia breathed.

"Smells like the same stuff was in there that's in the vial Walter's testing."

"You're letting Walter test it?" Olivia said, annoyed.

"Yes, Olivia, I'm letting Walter test it," he snapped. "Listen, doll, I know I once told ya that Walter was responsible for a lot of evil in this world, but this time? No. I don't believe it. I won't."

Olivia sighed. "Okay. I'm sorry. You really love that old loon, don't ya?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do." He smiled. "I'm a funny guy. I love the strangest types."

Ignoring his implication, Olivia said, "We gotta get this tested. If it matches, we need to talk to Miss Nash again. And I wanna see if the other vics' people have bottle like this lyin' around too."

"Hey! I cracked the case already," Peter said proudly. "I think this calls for a celebration."

"Whoa, Buster, you haven't cracked anything, except maybe that nutty head of yours, if you think this thing is solved," Olivia said.

"Killjoy. Still, I think we need to do something fun." He pulled out his cell and dialed as Olivia scowled at him. "Hey, toots, it's Pete Kingston. I need a table for tonight. Yeah, tonight. What, you don't love me anymore? Or do I need to remind you… ah, excellent. Thanks. Yeah, eight would be fine. And… no watering the drinks at my table, ya got it?" He chuckled. "Yeah, I love you too. Bye."

"Pete Kingston?" Olivia asked incredulously. "And who were you talking to?"

"We have an eight o'clock reservation at Donovan's tonight," Peter said smugly.

"Donovan's!" Olivia practically squealed. "That's the swankiest joint in town! You gotta be a movie star or have connections to get in that place!"

"I know. Peter Bishop doesn't have those kinds of connections, but Pete Kingston does. So you get in your car, I'll get in mine – " He looked at the jalopy. "Such as it is. Go on home, and put on your fanciest dress, Dunham. We're goin' dancing!"

Constance Nash watched the couple walk arm and arm to their cars and dialed the phone. "Hello? I just had visitors. Names are Olivia Dunham, and her boyfriend Peter. They were asking questions about George. Yes, they're gone. All right, I won't." She held Melissa close to her. "You're staying inside for the rest of the week, honey. I think Mommy may be in some trouble."

_And so are those two_, she thought as she closed the curtains on her view of Peter and Olivia. _They're in trouble in spades._


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Night had fallen on the city; the hard-working daytime stiffs had made their boring commutes home, and were safely tucked away to make room for the wildlife that only comes out when the sun goes down.

The night owls were donning their finery, pinning roses on their lapels, getting ready for another night on the town. They'd get out of their limousines and walk past the beggars on the corner on their way to the latest hotspot, another evening of booze and broads and parties awaiting.

The rats, on the other hand, were hiding in their dark corners, always ready to make a quick buck and slink back into the shadows. Olivia Dunham was well-acquainted with both species of nighttime wildlife in this city; John had taken her out more than once to some pretty swanky places, and more than once she'd been disappointed when he'd breezed past the less fortunate without a second glance. The rats? Well, she dealt with them on a pretty regular basis in her work, first with the cops, then on her own. The rats kept things… interesting.

But there were no rats where she was going tonight. _Donovan's_, she thought to herself in amazement as she put the finishing touches on her hair. It fell in shining waves past her shoulders, one side slightly obscuring her face. She looked at herself in the mirror, and chuckled, "Eat your heart out, Veronica Lake."

Olivia smoothed the fabric of her simple, but elegant, floor-length black dress. She had worn it only once before, to a PD awards gala where she'd been given a commendation. She thought it would have been more appropriate to wear her uniform, but the invitation said black tie. She had panicked; she wasn't a sparkling evening-gown kinda gal. But after four hours, in three different stores, she'd found it – a simple, sleek, black cap-sleeved gown that hugged her in all the right places. It plunged just enough to make the boys take notice, and the girls jealous, but still said, "class." Simple, comfortable, sexy – that's how Olivia Dunham wanted to feel tonight.

She knew she should be worried about how a guy like Peter Bishop – or "Pete Kingston," as he had called himself on the phone – could get them into a place only the swells frequented, but to be honest, a little, secret part of her didn't care. For once in her life, Olivia Dunham had someone at her beck and call that would do all things she wanted, including take her dancing. He was fun, attentive and handsome, and boy, was he good in the sack.

Her cheeks were just starting to flush at the memories of their times together – and thoughts of getting _out_ of her gown later – when she heard the knock at her door. She took a moment to freshen her red lipstick and dab a little perfume in her cleavage, then walked to the door.

A slow smile spread across her face when she looked through the peephole. This was going to be a fun night. She opened the door to the sight of Peter Bishop, freshly-shaved and wearing a tux, grinning at her. "Well, hello, sailor," Olivia said, whistling. "You clean up real nice, Bishop."

Peter's grin was replaced by a stunned expression. "Wow," was all he could say as he took in the vision in front of him. "You're some dish, Dunham."

She waggled her eyebrows at him. "And I live alone. Come on in," she said seductively, stepping aside, surprised when he didn't pass.

He stopped in front of her, and slipped a hand around her waist, gently drawing her closer. His lips came within an inch of hers, when they detoured and stopped by her ear. "You're beautiful," he whispered, grazing her earlobe with his teeth.

Olivia couldn't help the tiny gasp that escaped. "This old thing? Had it for years," she said breathlessly.

Peter laughed softly, and drew away from her. "Here, this is for you," he said, holding the clear plastic box out to her.

"Uh… thanks." Taking it from his hand, she looked at the white and purple orchid inside. "A corsage? Really?"

"Sure, why not? Don't worry, you don't have to wear it if you don't want, but… "

"No, no, I kinda love it," Olivia said, smiling. "Wait here." She dashed into her bedroom, and emerged a few minutes later with the flower neatly pinned behind her ear. "What do you think? Ya like it?"

"Never seen a flower look better," Peter nodded. "You ready to go?"

"As I'll ever be," Olivia replied, grabbing her wrap from the sofa. "Let me get my car keys."

"Oh, no, we're not taking your car," Peter said.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "We're sure as hell not taking Walter's old heap."

"No, we're taking a cab. It's waitin' outside for us." He held out a crooked arm to her. "Milady?"

She threaded her arm through his. "Thank you, kind sir. Let's get this show on the road."

-0-0-0-0-0-

The joint, as they say, was jumping. The orchestra was in full swing, and waiters in white tie and tails slithered between tables balancing champagne-laden trays on their fingertips. Peter and Olivia entered arm and arm, Peter scouring the crowd for a familiar face and finally finding one. He waved as a burly red-haired man in an immaculately tailored dinner jacket approached them. "Never thought I'd see you in this place again, boyo," the man said in a slight Irish brogue.

"You know me, Eddie, I just keep poppin' up like a bad penny," Peter said, smiling. "Olivia, I'd like you to meet – "

"Big Eddie Donovan," Olivia said, almost admiringly. "It's a pleasure. Olivia Dunham." She held out her hand, which Eddie took and kissed.

"Miss Dunham, the pleasure is mine. I've heard a lot about you – the gumshoe who only takes cases about love."

"That's me. I'm a sucker for lost causes," she joked, although Peter didn't seem to find it amusing. "Quite an establishment you have here."

"Ah, I do love my little club. My pride and joy, so it is. Did you know Pete used to work here?" Eddie commented.

"Do tell!" Olivia said, intrigued.

"He played piano for the orchestra for nearly a year. He was quite the draw – all the ladies just loved to watch him tickle the ivories… and I'm sure he tickled _theirs_ later, as well, eh, Pete?"

"C'mon, Eddie, that's bad form," Peter said with a tight smile. "I don't talk about all of your _conquests_, now do I?" His voice was laced with an air of menace.

Eddie backed down. "No, indeed, you do not. Well, it's grand to see you again, Pete. Maybe you'll sit in with the band, later, huh?"

"Oh, I dunno," Peter said haltingly.

"I'll make sure he does," Olivia interjected.

"That'd be swell," Eddie smiled. "Let me show you to your table. This way."

They were halfway to the table when Olivia heard a familiar voice squeal behind her, "Pete Kingston, is that you?"

They both turned. "Esther? Holy cow! Esther Figglesworth, as I live and breathe!" Peter exclaimed just before he found himself swinging an armful of Olivia's gal Friday.

Peppering his cheeks with kisses as he lowered her to the floor, Esther said, "This place hasn't been the same without ya, Pete. God love him, Stan's a great guy, but he can't play One O'Clock Jump to save his soul. Ya look good, kid!" She thumped him on the chest, squarely over his glass heart. "The ticker treatin' you okay?"

He placed a hand over his heart for a moment. "Better than ever, Esther. Which is just the way you look. I swear, you're even more gorgeous than I remember."

"Esther, what are you doing here?" Olivia chimed in, a little irritated at being ignored – or was she irritated because Esther was in Peter's arms?

"Olivia?" Esther's mouth dropped open. "Is that you? Gosh, you look like a movie star!" She looked between the two of them for a moment. "Wait a sec. Is Pete… you said your boyfriend's name was Peter Bishop!"

"Your boyfriend?" Peter said, grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

"Yeah, well, it would seem I got a two-for-one deal," Olivia scowled.

"That's a pretty great deal, I'd say," Esther said happily. "Whether he's Pete Kingston or Peter Bishop, this boy's a catch." She nudged Peter gently in the ribs. "He was so sweet to me when I first started singin' with the band. The boys could be, well… they didn't much care for my looks, let's just say. But Pete set 'em straight, and we're aces now."

"Just how long you been workin' here, Esther?" Olivia asked.

"Oh, it's… about four years now? Yeah, thereabouts. I needed the extra dough because my day job doesn't pay all that great, ya know?" Esther smirked at Olivia.

"I'm lost here," Peter interjected. "Olivia, Esther's… "

"My gal Friday, yeah," Olivia admitted. "Not that she's that much of a help," she added snidely.

"Ah, you couldn't live without me and ya know it," Esther countered affectionately. "Well, I gotta bounce – my set's comin' up in a few, and I have to go gild the lily."

"The lily' plenty pretty as it is, Esther," Peter complimented her.

She slapped him on the arm. "Sweet-talker," she chuckled. "You two have a good time tonight. Would you come up and play for me tonight, Pete?"

"Eddie already asked him, and I said yes," Olivia joked.

"That's swell!" Esther said happily. She waved briefly, then made her way back through the crowd.

Olivia noticed Eddie waving to them from a prime table near the band. "C'mon, _Pete_, there's our table." She leaned against him as they walked. I have a feeling this is going to be a very eventful evening," Olivia whispered in his ear.

"Yeah, I'm startin' to think that myself," Peter agreed, and led her to their table.

-0-0-0-0-0-


	5. Chapter 5

5.

The lobster was perfection, the champagne and conversation were flowing; Olivia had never had such a good time in her life. She was starting to get suspicious. "Peter, why are we here?" she finally asked her date.

"What? What do you mean, why are we here? I wanted to take my girl out for a night on the town, that's all. Olivia, why does everything anybody does have to have an ulterior motive?" Peter asked sincerely.

"Because it usually does," came her glum reply.

Peter reached over and took the dessert fork from her hands; she hadn't taken a bite of her cake for five minutes anyway. Squeezing her hands in his, he said softly, "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, doll. You're gorgeous, you're funny, and you're smart. I want everybody to see just how amazing you are, and what a lucky so-and-so I am." He took the fork and stabbed a piece of cake. "So, we're gonna finish dessert, and have some more champagne, and cut a rug…"

"Last time the two of us cut a rug, you wound up with your heart ripped out," Olivia said dryly.

"That's true. But not this time. Tonight – "

Peter was interrupted by the bandleader's voice. "Ladies and Gents, we're lucky tonight at Donovan's to have someone near and dear stopping by. Think maybe we could coax Pete Kingston to come up and give us a tune for old times' sake? Come on, everybody!" He began to clap, and soon the entire club was applauding loudly, some in the crowd whistling.

Esther stood at the microphone with a smile on her face, and nodded at Peter. He looked to Olivia. "Go on, your public awaits," Olivia said playfully, making a shooing motion with her hands.

Peter was heading to the bandstand when Olivia's phone buzzed in her evening bag. "Dunham," she said softly.

"This is gettin' to be a habit with the voice thing, Dunham," Broyles said on the other side. "I'm gonna have to tell my wife."

"Funny, Chief. What's up?"

"Anything new on Constance Nash?"

"Maybe. I was gonna wait til we had the proof, but she had a vial at her house similar to the one we found on our latest vic, only this one had a number three on it instead of four. Peter's giving it to Walter to test 'em against each other. Nash is hiding something, I'm sure of it. You might wanna send some of the boys to question her officially."

"Sounds like a plan. Um… Dunham… "

"Yeah, Chief? Got something on your mind?" Olivia said, smiling.

"Um… thanks. Nash clammed up when I tried to question her."

"Full disclosure, Chief? It was her kid helped us out. She had the bottle in her glass collection," Olivia said, throwing the poor guy a bone.

"Ah. Okay. Well, let me know what the mad scientist finds out, will ya?"

"You'll be almost the first to know, Chief. Scout's honor." Olivia ended the call just as Peter was seating himself at the piano. She watched him whisper something in Esther's ear, just before Esther walked back to the microphone.

"Good news, everybody! Pete and I made a deal. He's gonna sit in with us, but he has a special song request for a very special lady… and she knows who she is… " Esther looked over at Olivia and winked, making all eyes turn in Olivia's direction. She slunk down in her seat a little at all the attention as Esther counted the band in, Peter placed his hands on the keyboard, and the song began:

"Why do robins sing in December,  
Long before the springtime is due?  
And even though it's snowing  
Violets are growing,  
I know why and so do you... "

Olivia never felt so uncomfortable in her life. Every eye in the place was on her; granted, the guys sure were looking at her appreciatively, then back at Peter with jealousy, but still, Olivia was hoping the floor would open up and swallow her.

Where did he get off putting her on display like this? Like she was some kind of prize he'd won and wanted to show off? And to pick some sappy love song to sing to her… that was just the icing on a very stale cake. Love was for suckers, and she was going to have to set both Peter Bishop _and_ Pete Kingston straight on that fact.

He was in love with her. Totally, madly in love. And Olivia was damned if she could figure out why. She'd never given him any indication that she felt the same way… had she? Sure, they'd spent evenings together watching stupid movies on TV and eating takeout from the same container, and he could pretty much guess exactly what she needed before she even knew she needed it. And yeah, they didn't just have sex; for the first time in a long time, Olivia Dunham felt like she was _being made love to_. She suddenly shook her head – no. It was just sex. Great, mind-blowing sex, but just sex. She was having fun with the guy – lots of fun. That was all.

And yet…

He'd given her a gift certificate for a year's worth of time at the local firing range for her birthday. She'd never even told him her birthday, but he'd seen it one day when she'd left her drivers' license out on the table. A quick glance, and he had it memorized.

"Why do breezes sigh every evening,  
Whispering your name as they do?  
And why have I the feeling stars are on my ceiling?  
I know why and so do you...

When you smile at me  
I hear gypsy violins  
When you dance with me  
I'm in heaven when the music begins..."

He always treated her with respect, like an equal, not like some kewpie doll he'd won at a carny. He held doors for her and all that, but he never talked down to her like some guys would. This guy… she just couldn't figure him out.

The song had ended, and the applause had faded, before Olivia realized Peter was back at the table and standing in front of her with his hand outstretched. "May I have this dance, Miss?" he asked with a slight bow.

"Huh?"

"Wanna cut a rug, Dunham?" he amended the request.

"What, you haven't put me on public display enough?" she said testily.

"Come on," he said, tugging her to her feet. "This is what you came for, isn't it? Dancin'? So, let's dance."

He led her onto the dance floor as a swing waltz began to play, and Esther began to sing:

"Oh, dear, what can I do,

Baby's in black, and I'm feeling blue,

Tell me, Oh, what can I do…"

They swayed gently as Peter said, "What's wrong, Olivia?" Olivia kept her eyes focused on Peter's lapel. "C'mon, Miss D, what darkens your beautiful brow?"

Olivia shook her head. "It's just… what'd you go and do that for, huh?"

"Do what?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"That song… '_I know why, and so do you_.' What am I supposed to know, huh, Bishop? Everybody staring at me… Esther all smiles… it was embarrassing."

"Gosh, Olivia, I… I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. You're just so beautiful tonight, and they asked me to play, and I wanted to play something to tell ya how I feel about ya, is all."

"Oh, so you see stars on the ceiling, huh?" she scoffed.

"When you're with me, yeah," he said simply. "I can't help it, baby. I love ya." Her eyes immediately left his lapels, and focused squarely on his face. "There. I said it, and I don't care who knows it. I love you."

"Then you're a chump. Geez, Bishop, why do you have to make things so complicated? We're having a swell time, aren't we?"

"We sure are," Peter replied with a smile.

"So, why do you have screw it up? We could just leave things the way they are, but no, you have to go and get all stupid on me." They continued to dance, but Olivia pulled away from Peter slightly. "Can't a girl just have a few laughs with a fella without it turning into hearts and flowers, and moon and June and spoon and all that crap? Cryin' out loud, I thought _I_ was the girl in this relationship."

Stung, Peter nevertheless drew Olivia closer to him again. "Look, Olivia, I know you've been burned. But there's a reason you take the cases you do. You still believe in love. I know you do. So, you're stuck with me, sweetheart. I ain't goin' anywhere."

"What if I want you to?" Olivia said coldly. "You don't know anything about me, Bishop. You waltz into my life with your pretty glass heart, and your sob story about not knowing your place in the world, and I'm supposed to melt into a puddle of mush for ya? Get over yourself. We were having some laughs, and that's all. And if you ain't goin' anywhere, then I am." She pulled roughly away from Peter and started to walk away.

"You're right, Dunham," Peter called to her. She turned. "Every time we cut a rug, I get my heart ripped out."

"Welcome to my world," Olivia said, and stormed off the dance floor as Esther continued to sing:

"Oh, how long will it take

Til she sees the mistake she has made, dear,

What can I do, baby's in black, and I'm feelin' blue,

Tell me oh, what can I do…"

Peter walked dejectedly back to the table as the song ended, Esther following not far behind. "Pete, what happened? Where'd Olivia go?"

"I blew it, Esther. I pushed too hard. Stupid," he said, angrily punctuating the last word with a fist on the table.

"She's a tough nut to crack, Pete, but keep at it. She'll come around. I just feel it."

"I don't know, Esther. I just don't know." Peter scowled when he looked at Olivia's seat at the table. "Damn it, she left without her wrap. That girl loses everything all the time. And what do I do? I go runnin' after her with it. Not this time." He shook his head and folded his arms.

Esther nodded knowingly at him. "It's getting pretty chilly out there."

Peter sighed, and snatched up the wrap. "Fine. I don't want her freezin' to death on my conscience."

Esther kissed him on the cheek. "You got it bad, huh?"

"Fit to kill me, Esther," he said sadly.

"Hang in there, Peter," she replied kindly. "Like I said, she'll come around. She's different with you."

"You're a good egg, Figglesworth," he said, chucking Esther on the chin. "Later, alligator."

"In a while, crocodile." She watched Peter hightail it out of the club and sighed. "Some girls have all the luck."

-0-0-0-0-0-

Peter looked around for any sign of Olivia as he exited the club. He wasn't that far behind her, so she had to be nearby, he thought. She must be…

The scream sliced the night air open like a knife. "Olivia!" Peter called, breaking into a run as he rounded the corner in time to see two men in fedoras manhandling Olivia into the trunk of a sedan. "Hey!" he yelled as one of the mens' hats fell off to reveal a gleaming bald dome, "Get your paws off my girl!"

He took one last step before he felt something slam into his skull, and the lights went out.


	6. Chapter 6

6.

Phillip Broyles stood outside Constance Nash's house, admiring its perfectly manicured, if small, lawn. _So this is how the other half lives_, he thought to himself. Constance Nash wasn't rich, by any means, but having a little plot of land, outside a house that was actually yours? That made you rich as Midas, in Broyles' opinion.

He was about to step onto the porch when his video phone rang. "This better be good," he snarled as he picked up.

"Hello? Hello, Lieutenant Broyles?" Walter Bishop's face came into view. "This is Doctor Walter Bishop."

"Yes, Doctor Bishop, I can see you," Broyles said impatiently.

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course you can, how silly of me. I work with Peter Bishop, who is no relation. He, in turn, is helping…"

"Yeah, Dunham, I know all that. What do you want?" He did not have time for some crazy – most likely stoned – old man's nonsense. He had a suspect to grill, and he liked grilling suspects.

"I've been trying to reach Peter, but he's not picking up. I know he was taking Miss Dunham out tonight, but he always picks up for me. Have you heard from either of them?" Bishop looked as jumpy as a turkey a week before Thanksgiving.

"Can't say that I have, Doc," Broyles said. "Were you just callin' him to chat, or did you have something to tell him?"

"Oh, I had something to tell him – although he is very pleasant company. He's such a bright young man – genius level IQ, you know." Walter saw Broyles glaring at him on the video phone. "Right. Yes. I called him to tell him that the two samples he gave me are basically of the same compound. The sample marked four had slightly higher levels of the same chemicals, rather like a timed release capsule."

"Did it look familiar to you? Dunham said you'd admitted to creating a love potion a number of years back."

Walter looked shamed for a moment, then said, "Yes, I did. And yes, it does look quite similar to the compound Bellie and I were working on. These chemicals are combined to increase levels of oxytocin and serotonin in the system."

"In English now?" Broyles barked.

"Oxytocin boosts neurotrophin levels – tests have shown that people who are in love have higher levels of neurotrophins in their system than those who are not. Serotonin, in high levels, can cause obsessive-compulsive disorder, which is quite similar to extreme infatuation in its behavioral patterns. Why just today, Peter said he thinks about Miss Dunham all the time – a perfect example, although I'm sure his feelings for her go far beyond mere infatuation."

"Back to the point, Bishop. Is this your potion? And if it is, how did somebody get their grubby little paws on it?"

Walter shrugged. "It's possible. But I don't know how anyone could have gotten it. The only notes were mine, and Bellie's."

"We'll deal with that later. So, looks like we're dealin' with somebody sellin' this stuff to lonely hearts, huh?"

"It would seem so. I think they're numbered because it's a cumulative dose. Dose one has the lowest proportions of chemicals, then Dose two has more, and so on. When given to someone who is not in love, the feelings occur quickly, but are actually gradual. However, I think by Dose three, the poor people overdosed. And I would hate to see what might happen if it were given all at once."

"Nice. I got some juicy new questions to ask Miss Constance Nash. I'm obliged, Doctor Bishop."

"Lieutenant, please let me know if you hear from Peter or Miss Dunham? It's not like him to ignore my calls. I'm worried," Walter said, a pleading look on his face.

_He really loves the kid_, Broyles thought sympathetically. "Sure thing, Doc. And if he calls, I'll make sure and tell him to call ya."

"Thank you very much. Good luck with your case, Lieutenant, and if I may be of any further assistance, don't hesitate to ask. Good bye."

Broyles watched Walter's face disappear from his screen. "No, thank _you_, Doc," he said to the blank screen, a wicked smile crossing his face. "This is gonna be the most fun I've had in weeks."

-0-0-0-0-

The marching band had finally stopped playing in Olivia's head, so she ventured to an upright position in the tiny locked room they had thrown her in. She was glad she'd been out like a light when that happened – it couldn't have been graceful, falling on her ass in a floor-length gown.

Olivia didn't remember anybody hitting her; she had felt a prick at the back of her neck, like she felt when she got stung by a wasp once. After that, nothing – except the hazy memory of someone calling her name as she fell into the darkness.

She stood up, and realized her shoes were gone, and she was standing on the concrete floor in her bare feet. Her gown dragged behind her – it was made to be worn with heels, and Olivia was forced to grab a portion of it in her fist so she wouldn't trip over herself and add injury to insult.

She was more than embarrassed that someone had gotten the drop on her; Olivia Dunham could spot a tail better than anybody. She decided to blame Peter Bishop; yeah, that would work. That guy could distract a guard at Buckingham Palace, he was so confounding. If she hadn't been so upset at Peter's shenanigans in the club, she would've been fine. That was her story, and she was sticking to it.

She was getting up a nice head of steam at Peter Bishop, when the door to her new prison flew open. Olivia thought briefly about charging the gray-suited goons looming in the doorway, but all thoughts of that disappeared as she watched them unceremoniously dump an unconscious Peter Bishop on the floor. He fell so hard Olivia could hear his skull hit the concrete.

_So much for that nice head of steam_. "Peter!" she cried, dropping to her knees beside him as the door slammed shut behind her. He'd fallen face-down, so after checking – and mercifully finding – a pulse, Olivia gently turned him onto his back. A smile of relief spread across her face when he groaned. "Thank God," she said quietly. "Peter, wake up." She ran a hand through his hair, dismayed when her fingertips came away wet with blood. Reaching around to the side of his head, she found his hair matted with even more blood.

"Ugh," he groaned, trying to move away from her touch, "Quit pokin' me, will ya?" he grumbled as he sat up woozily. "Man, did anybody get the number of the truck?"

"Be careful," Olivia said, putting a steadying arm around his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think so." He felt Olivia's arm around him; it felt so right, he had to pull away. Putting a safe distance between them, he added, "You?"

"I'm not the one who took a sap to the skull. I'm fine. I think they drugged me with a dart or somethin'." She closed the distance again, and helped Peter stand. "Is your heart okay? I think those are the same guys that tried to take it last time."

"It's the same guys," Peter said, squinting to bring the room into focus. "I saw two of the bald-headed bastards loading you into the trunk of a car before lights out."

Olivia instantly reached out to unbutton Peter's shirt. "Hey, what do you think you're doin'? Knock it off," he snapped, swatting her hands away.

"I want to make sure your heart's okay," Olivia protested. "I mean, what if they're after it again?"

"They're not," Peter said.

"How do you know? I mean, I know it's not Walter this time, but they were workin' for Nina Sharp before that. What if she wants it? What if…" At Peter's rueful laugh, she bristled. "What are you laughing at?"

"You," he said simply. "You're being all concerned about me."

"Of course I'm concerned. Why wouldn't I be?" Olivia said, clueless.

Peter laughed outright this time, wincing at the throbbing in his head that it set off. "Come on, Olivia - _you_ being concerned about _my_ heart is pretty ironic, considering our current situation, don't you think?"

Olivia's face grew grave. "About that, Peter. I…"

"Save it, doll," Peter interrupted her, nodding toward the door. "We got bigger fish to fry right now."

The door opened again, and a familiar bald-headed man stepped through the door. "You," Olivia snarled. "Mr. Gemini, right?"

"Your memory does you credit," the pale-faced man said robotically.

"Well, a girl never forgets the first guy who tries to carve up her chest," she replied tartly. "Or who tries to bury her at sea while she's still breathin'."

"This is the guy?" Peter asked.

"This is the guy," Olivia answered.

"Why, you… " Two larger men, similarly dressed and follically-challenged, came into the room and grabbed Peter by the arms as he charged them. He struggled in vain against them. "Trust me, baldy, when this is over, you're gonna wish you'd never been born," Peter growled.

Another pair of identical goons came in and grabbed Olivia. They bound her wrists together in front of her with zip ties while the other goons did the same to Peter's. "What do you want from us?" she asked, trying not to let the fear show.

"He wants to see you," Gemini said cryptically. "Come along, please."

"Well, at least he's polite," Peter quipped as he and Olivia were shoved out of the room.

-0-0-0-0-


	7. Chapter 7

7.

Olivia and Peter were hauled down a long, dimly-lit hallway. When their captors finally stopped in front of a heavy iron door, Peter looked over at Olivia. She looked scared, and that was a look he never wanted to see on that pretty face. He caught her eye and gave her a smile and a nod. _This is gonna work out just fine, doll_, he thought, as though trying to will her to hear him.

To his surprise, she smiled back, her nose crinkling up the way it did when the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. She may have given up on _them_, but she was still in there fighting. "I'd hold the door for ya, doll, but I think these guys might object," he joked as one of their silent guards punched in a passcode for the door. Green lights sudden flickered on, and the door creaked open.

"Inside," Gemini ordered.

"Like we have a choice," Olivia groused, glaring at one of her captors as he gave her an ungentlemanly shove. "They don't have charm schools where you're from, do they, Big Boy?" The man merely cocked his head at her curiously, and gave her an extra shove. "Chivalry is dead," she murmured.

The room they entered was empty except for a folding table and a very large flat screen TV. Peter and Olivia looked at each other curiously as the dark screen began to flicker to life. A moment later, a thin, wizened face, almost cartoonish in its paleness, appeared. "Good evening, Miss Dunham," the spectral face said in a raspy, weak voice. He turned to Peter. "And Peter Bishop. The man with the glass heart. You're holding up better than I would have thought."

"I come from hearty Irish stock," Peter sneered, earning him a kidney punch from one of his captors.

"Hey!" Olivia shouted.

"Enough," the face on the screen ordered. "I'll need him later."

"Oh, really? Whatever you need me for, I ain't doin' it," Peter said adamantly.

"You're speaking as though you'll have a say in the matter, young Peter," the face said mildly. "Anyway… Miss Dunham, I have to tell you how much I admire you. You are exquisite. I'm so very glad your path crossed with my dear old friend Walter Bishop's."

"You're William Bell," Olivia breathed.

"In the not-quite-flesh. I'm delighted to meet you. I wish it could have been under better circumstances. I'm afraid you've put me in a difficult spot."

"Gee, I'm so sorry," Olivia said sarcastically. "How'd I do that?"

"You're nosing around in things that don't concern you."

"So, the potion is yours," Peter interjected. "You re-created it from the notes you kept with Walter." At Bell's eerie smile, he continued. "But, why? I doubt you're in love with the idea of love. That's Walter all over, but you? Not so much."

"My dear boy, love has nothing to do with it. It's merely a side effect."

"A side effect?" Olivia barked. "You screwed around with their hearts, you rat. You made them love people they didn't really love. That's disgusting."

Bell chuckled softly. "You can't make a person love another, Olivia. Isn't that right, Peter?" He smiled triumphantly when Peter lowered his head. "This is about compliance. Acquiescence. Capitulation. My formula is designed to make a person completely and utterly docile and compliant to the needs and wants of another. I needed to have a test group, and I found it."

"Compliance… " Peter mused aloud. "If you somehow managed to dose large groups of people – whole populations through the water supply or something – you could…"

"Pave the way for a more ordered society," Bell finished.

"Enslave entire cities, you mean!" Olivia exclaimed. "You want to sell this to the highest bidder, don't you?"

"I already have an offer, Miss Dunham," Bell said evenly, his eyes flickering to Gemini. "But I find I need to do one more test."

Gemini approached, and set a small lab beaker on the table. "This is the combined dose of my formula. I split it into four cumulative ones before, but I need to know the results of a combined dose. And one of you is going to help me."

"Yeah, right," Peter spat.

"No way," Olivia said at the same time.

Gemini nodded, and the goons pulled their guns, aiming them squarely at Peter and Olivia's heads. "Oh, I think you will," Bell said. Either one of you drinks, or the other one dies."

"You're nuts," Peter said through gritted teeth.

"Bastard!" Olivia shouted.

"I'm a scientist. Those three things are not mutually exclusive. Now… Drink."

Peter and Olivia looked at each other for a moment, Peter offering her a sad, affectionate smile. Olivia looked away; she had to try and reason with Bell. If he had worked with Walter, there had to be –

Peter lunged for the beaker, picked it up, and drank the formula in one swallow.

"Well done," Bell smirked.

"Oh, God!" Olivia cried as Peter clutched his chest and doubled over. She pulled against the restraining arms of her captors, lowering her head to try and get a glimpse of Peter's face. "Peter, no!"

He lifted his head ever-so-slightly, and gave her a wink. "Now!" he shouted, slamming backwards into his own captors.

Following his lead, Olivia took "her" goons by surprise, and slipped out of their grasp, turning and slamming a knee into one of their groins, while throwing an elbow into the other's face.

Peter had managed to hold onto the beaker, and crushed it into one goon's face; he spun and got behind the other, slipping his bound hands over the captor's head in a choke hold. In seconds, the goon went still.

Gemini was slipping out a side door when the front doors suddenly blew open, and a crowd of cops ran in, led by Lt. Broyles. "PD! Drop your – " He stopped when he saw four unconscious, fedora-clad bald men on the floor, a barefoot Olivia Dunham in smeared lipstick, tousled hair and a ripped evening gown, and Peter Bishop, whose tuxedo seemed to have a missing tie. "What the hell?"

Peter, bent over at the waist trying to catch his breath, looked over at Olivia and grinned. "I knew you were a good dancer," he wheezed.

Olivia barked a laugh. "Nice of ya to join the party, Chief. What, your invite get lost in the mail or something?"

"Actually, Constance Nash told us you were in trouble," Broyles said as two of his officers cut the zip ties from Olivia and Peter's wrists. "She dropped the dime on you two to these guys, but felt kinda bad afterward. Seems this is where she came to pick up her love potion, so we thought we'd drop by."

"Well, that works for me," Peter said, finally straightening up. He stood up just in time to see a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye. "Gun!" he yelled, shoving Broyles out of the way as Gemini reappeared and fired a shot that hit Peter square in the chest. Broyles' men opened fire; Gemini fell like a ton of bricks.

"No!" Olivia shrieked as Peter slammed against the wall, then slid down to a dead stop. "Please, Peter." He wasn't dead. She couldn't lose him. Not after the way she had left things. She knelt on the floor next to him, resting her forehead against his. "For once, in my life, I have someone who needs me…" she sang softly, cradling his head in her hand.

Peter gasped suddenly, jerking to consciousness. "Olivia!" he exclaimed.

"Hey," she said softly, her hand on his cheek as he focused. "You're back. It's okay."

"You all right, doll?" he asked. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "Broyles?"

"Fit as a fiddle, Bishop," Broyles said, sauntering over. "You're pretty quick on your feet, boy. I appreciate the interception. But, if you don't mind my askin', why are you alive? That bullet took you square in the ticker."

Peter unbuttoned his tuxedo shirt, exposing the metal gate that enclosed his glass heart. The gate now sported an extra decoration – a flattened 38-caliber bullet. He nodded to Olivia; she gently pried the pancaked projectile from the gate, and opened the doors. There, in his chest, the glass heart beat, strong and sure.

"Well, I'll be good God-damned," Broyles said, adding a whistle for good measure.

Olivia gently closed the gate, resting a hand tenderly on it afterward. Suddenly, she remembered. "But… the potion… you drank it! How come… "

Peter merely smiled. "I have some theories," he said cryptically. "We can talk about that later."

"You're damn right we will," Olivia said hotly. "We'll talk about what the hell you were thinking when -"

"Bell!" Peter shouted, pointing at the TV screen.

They all turned. It suddenly went dark. Bell was gone. "Damn it," Olivia snapped, her fists clenching.

Peter wrapped his hands lightly around her wrists; her fists unclenched. "He'll get his someday. Don't worry."

"Ya know, Bishop, I actually believe you," Olivia smiled.

"Why wouldn't you? I'm as honest as the day is long," he joked.

"Oh, right. Well, I'll say this for you. You sure know how to show a girl a good time." She ruffled his hair.

"Don't say I never take you anywhere, doll face," he retorted, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it.

"Get a room, you two," Broyles groaned.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-


	8. Chapter 8

8.

"Oh, dear, that bullet made quite a dent," Walter said as he examined the gate in Peter's chest. "But everything seems to be fine."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure glad you made this thing bulletproof, Pops," Peter replied, wincing as he chuckled. "Still smarts, though."

"I'm sure," Walter said dryly. He looked over at Olivia, who was pacing – and fuming – not far away. "What's with her?"

Peter smirked. "She's steamed at me for _saving her life_," he said, raising his voice on the last words. Olivia glared at him, then walked over as Walter closed the gate carefully and Peter started buttoning his shirt.

"You have a habit of saving my life in the most annoying ways possible," Olivia said angrily. "You could have died, Peter. Everybody else that drank that stuff _did_ – what makes you so special?"

Peter looked at Walter, who nodded knowingly. "You took quite a chance on an untried hypothesis, son," Walter said.

"Didn't have any choice. Olivia, that potion would've killed you for sure. And I… well, I just couldn't let that happen," he shrugged. "I figured I might have a better shot at survival."

"Oh, really?" Olivia said, growing angrier by the second. "And how's that?" She threw up her hands. "Ya know what? Skip it. I don't wanna know." She turned away.

"Olivia," Walter said calmly. She turned back toward him. "Peter's theory was quite sound, as is evidenced by the fact that you're both here, safe and well. The formula that Bellie and I created all those years ago failed miserably, because we didn't take one important thing into account. We didn't find out if the subjects were already involved in a relationship."

Olivia looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"I believed then, and this theory has been proven by Peter now, that the formula only works on those who are not, at that time, in love. Those people died because their systems were overwhelmed by the chemical reaction of love itself – which wasn't present in their systems at all. But, _Peter_ didn't die… because he's _already_ in love." Walter patted Peter's arm affectionately, as Peter looked down, suddenly finding his right cufflink fascinating.

"You mean… " Olivia began.

Peter looked up at her. "I already have that 'chemical reaction' going on, so the formula had no place to go. It was negated from my system as soon as I swallowed it. But if you had swallowed it, it would've killed you, because… well, it just would have."

"You're saying it would have killed me because, like Bell's dead test subjects, I'm not in love?" Olivia asked, her voice breaking slightly.

"Yes, precisely," Walter replied.

Olivia took a step closer to Peter – and slapped him across the face. "Hey! What was that for?" Peter said indignantly, standing to confront Olivia.

"What the _hell_?" Olivia shouted, shoving him so hard he nearly fell back into the chair he'd just vacated. She gave him another shove, tears streaming down her face. "Of _course_ I love ya, ya big dope!"

Regaining his balance, Peter's eyes grew wide. "You _do_?" he asked, stupefied.

"I do," Olivia replied, sounding pretty shocked herself. "I really do."

"Well whaddya know," Peter said, a tiny, hopeful smile lighting his face.

"Knew it all along," Walter said smugly as he strolled over to Gene's stall to give them some privacy.

Peter hesitantly said, "So… you were saying?"

Olivia wiped her eyes. "You are the most infuriating, confounding, massive pain in the ass I've ever known. You're arrogant, you think you know it all…"

"Pretty much. 190 IQ," Peter interjected. At Olivia's furious glare, he held up his hands with a half-smile. "Okay, okay, sorry. Continue."

"I've been trying to figure out your angle since we met. I'm tailing you, thinkin' you're a crook, and you go and save my life. You make me breakfast, for Pete's sake. You're always there when I need you, you back off when I don't, you're funny as hell and twice as sweet… I don't get it. I just keep lookin' and lookin' for that angle, and… you don't have one. You're just… _you_." Olivia shook her head. "You scare me to death, Bishop."

"What? Why?" Peter stepped even closer to her, taking her hand.

"I'm not used to this. My world has always been about betrayal. About giving, and getting nothing back. About _me_ caring for _others_."

Peter smiled. "Then, who cares for you?"

Olivia looked into his eyes, and felt like she could happily fall into them and drown. "You do."

"Ah!" he said triumphantly. "At last! She _can_ be taught!"

"I'm just…" Olivia squeezed Peter's hand. "Peter, I'm scared."

Peter slipped his arms around Olivia's waist. "I'm not gonna tell you not to be, doll. It's a scary world out there. Both of us almost bought the farm tonight. And you know what?" She shook her head. "I'm scared too."

"You? Shut the front door."

"No kiddin'. You're pretty perplexing yourself, Olivia Dunham. You hold yourself to this impossibly high standard, and everybody else, too. I'll never be able to meet it. Not all the time. Hey, I can play ball with the best of 'em, but even the best hitters fail two-thirds of the time." He hung his head a bit. "I'm scared I'm gonna let you down, and you'll leave me. I don't think I could take it. You're like air to me; hell, you might as well just yank this glass ticker outta my chest if I ever lost ya."

"Oh, Peter… "Olivia sighed, a sad smile on her face. "We're some pair, huh?"

"Couple of broken toys, we are," Peter commented.

"Well, then," she said, her smile brightening as she stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his, "I'd say we're perfect for each other, wouldn't you?"

Peter laughed. "I guess you could look at it that way." He gave her a quick peck. "I got an idea. Whaddya say we make a deal?"

"If it involves singing cheesy love songs, Nuh-uh," she replied with a sly grin.

"Ah, quit it. You loved my cheesy love song. And that Esther is some songbird, huh?"

"She is at that. About Esther… you two seemed awful chummy," Olivia said with a hint of jealousy.

"Me and Esther? Fuggedaboudit! She's like a little sister to me!" Peter hooted. "She's the salt of the earth, that girl. Love her to bits. But me and her? Never happen."

"Good," Olivia said firmly. "So, what's the deal?"

"The deal is," he said, walking them backward to his chair. "You and me. Together." He sat down, and maneuvered Olivia so she stood between his legs. "We take everything as it comes, and if things get wacky, we say something to the other. I do something you don't like, you say so. You do something I don't like, ditto."

"Me? Do something you don't like?" Olivia purred, rubbing her bare leg against Peter's trousered one. "Perish the thought."

"Knock it off, you," Peter warned, without really meaning it. "And we always remember one thing."

"What's that?"

"Just because you're scared of something, doesn't mean it's not worth doing. We're worth it, baby. We're worth it and then some." He tugged her down onto his lap. "You and me?"

Olivia took his face in her hands. "You and me, kid."

"Peter! Olivia! I believe I've made a breakthrough in my self-reheating leftover project!" Walter exclaimed as she burst from Gene's stall. "The secret – " He stopped when he saw Olivia in Peter's lap, their arms wrapped around each other in an intimate embrace, completely oblivious to their surroundings. "Knew it all along," Walter said happily, turning back toward his lab table.

As the lovebirds continued their makeout session, Walter sang softly, "The Candyman can, 'cause he mixes it with love… and makes the world taste good…"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

… _Together they made goodness, and lived happily ever after._

_The End…?_


End file.
